I met your god when I was young enough
To swaddle him in doll’s clothes.
Alone in darkened rooms,
I knew if I opened the windows inside me
Something would creep in and bite off his little brittle limbs.
My little bitter heart saw him stabbed by sunbeams,
Crushed by dust,
Bleeding stolen candy and forgotten prayers,
Poisoned by possibilities under unlocked sinks.
Unaware of the beasts at the door,
Petulant,
He transubstantiated into a toy.
Lips puckered,
Waiting to suck.
 
 
 
 
 
 
I accidentally found myself listening to a man berating his deity for the manner in which it chose to do business, or maybe he was preaching. He knocked this from a dusty shelf in my mind. Big people never listen, do they?

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 17th, 2012 at 12:07 pm and is filed under Rags of Light (poetry). You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.